


Meant to be

by lazarusbee (glossopteris)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson Plays Rugby, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining John, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glossopteris/pseuds/lazarusbee
Summary: John had wanted to get out of his hometown the minute he turned eighteen. He graduated with full honors to study medicine, with a scholarship to play rugby at the Academy. Here he meets Sherlock Holmes, who he comes to realize, is the most incredible man he's ever met.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. The Academy

John, Harry, and Emma have been traveling all day, since before the sun rose on their old family minivan. Now, late afternoon, John directs them from the freeway, onto the exit towards their destination- Baskerville Academy- and they finally find the correct street.

“There it is.” John says, his finger pointing straight ahead, into the front of the car, indicating the old academy building looming in the distance. “Home sweet home.”

His mother had insisted on driving him, so John thanks her, and hugs his sister, even though she was forced to go, he’s glad he gets the opportunity to say goodbye for now. His sister was a few years older than him, but never had the motivation for school, she was perfectly happy to continue to live at home, while John had wanted to get out of his hometown the minute he turned eighteen. He graduated with full honors, to study medicine, with a scholarship to play rugby.

His mother cries- Emma is very emotional, ever since the death of her late husband- and pulls the three of them into a tight hug. John finishes unloading the suitcases from the trunk of the car, he doesn’t own a lot. John has been shipped off school so many times growing up he has memorized his packing list, and knows exactly what sweaters, suits, slacks, and button-ups to include. Packing was easy, but it was the goodbyes that were the hardest. He sighs as he watches his family pull away.

It was early February, and freshly fallen snow covered the lawn of the large, run-down Georgian building where he would be living for the rest of the year. The bitter winter wind caused John to pull his sweater sleeves down absentmindedly as he started to gather his things to begin the trudge up the walkway when he sees a stout older women bustling towards him.

“No- My god!” She bellows, while John sets down his bags. “Now just wait one minute there-” and pauses in question.

“John.” John holds out his hand in greeting and the lady shakes.

“Just wait one minute there John, the porter will tend to your bags. Follow me and we’ll get you something to eat, you must be starved.” The lady nods, and smiles. “I am Mrs. Dartmoor, welcome to Baskerville Academy.”

It felt weird just to leave his belongings in the middle of the walkway, but she assured him it would be fine, and led John down several hallways until she got to a cafeteria with only a few people on the inside, and had left him with his room key and some welcome papers, then had to run due to ‘other matters’ that needed attending. John was exhausted, and he was tempted to just go to his room, but the smell of freshly baked herb bread made his stomach growl, reminding him he had not eaten at all that day. He grabbed a tray and pushed some pasta on it, not wanting to be too greedy with portions, and went to sit in the corner of the room next to a girl with long blonde hair.

She introduced herself as Mary. John learned that she liked sports, although there weren’t any women teams at this school.

“School’s busy enough” she assured, “I hardly know what the hell I’m doing.” 

Smart people often said that. The less knowledge they professed, the more they knew or so it seemed. John asked where she lived before the academy, and she said he went to a private preparatory school in London and then like everyone else, had eventually ended up at the academy. Mary asked if John played any sports at his old school. John confessed he was an avid rugby player and Mary’s eyes got big.

“I have to introduce you to Greg” she said. “He’s the team captain.”

They got on well. John enjoyed Mary’s company and was grateful when she showed him where his room was, ready to turn down for the night and get ready to meet more people the following day.


	2. The Café

John woke with a start to his wild alarm clock and pushed his body up to a sitting position. There was enough light seeping under the dark curtains to make out his small room, adorned in peeling yellowish floral wallpaper, a simple desk with a stool, and an old armchair across from his bed. John stretches his arms up as he tiredly swings his legs off of the side of the bed to force himself to stand up.

Today was the morning of his first day of classes. There’s no point in delaying it, he would have to start the day eventually. John pulls on his favorite grey jumper over his plain t-shirt, and slides on his slacks that he had laid out last night. He glances at his reflection in the mirror, smiling slightly to give him some confidence. His hand reached up to his chest as he absentmindedly played with his fathers dog-tags he wore on a chain around his neck. Years of rugby practice had made John very fit, and he was good-looking and well-mannered, he prided himself on looking and behaving very much like his father. His short blonde hair was sticking up, and John ran his fingers through the strands while looking at his schedule. His first class was Chemistry, and John slung his book bag over his shoulder, locked his door, and began his journey towards the classroom.

The class was full when he arrived, having had asked several people for directions while getting lost in the copious amounts of hallways and corridors this old building had, and so John quickly slips into the back of the room so he wouldn't be the center of attention.

Chemistry did not come easy for John, so he found himself spacing off. He noticed a man a couple seats up from him, who looked bored, and, like John, was not paying attention, just scribbling in his notebook. He was very thin and tall, with raven-black curly hair, wearing a long black coat, with the collar turned up. John smirked slightly, the man probably thought he looked really cool with the collar popped like that. Suddenly, like the man could read his thoughts, he turned slightly and looked back at John. His bright green eyes were rimmed by a sweep of long, dark lashes. His high cheekbones lit by the shining of the florescent lights, and he had full, dark red cupid bow lips. John swallowed, he really needed to stop staring, but the man was stunning, and, John could admit, the collar popped up really did make him look cool. John smiled and nodded in his direction, but the other man did not return the smile so John glanced away, down at his notebook. The man did not look back for the rest of the class, but John kept glancing up at him, there was just something about him that made John’s heart skip, maybe his chemistry class would not be so boring after all.

John decides after class to head to the cafe on the street corner. He had been mulling over his chemistry textbook, nursing his 3rd cup of tea, when he heard the door to the Cafe open, and the cool breeze from outside reached his face, causing him to look up at the door right as the handsome man from his chemistry class walked in, his collar still popped up, green eyes shimmering in the evening sunlight. He looked right at John, sending a shiver up his spine as those eyes analyzed him briefly, but gave no indication of recognition, and simply walked right up to the counter to order.

John couldn’t stop staring at Sherlock, and after some time, he couldn’t help but to walk over towards where Sherlock was perched up on a stool facing the window, scribbling something in his notebook. When John got closer the man glanced up, shutting his notebook, unable to hide his surprise at Johns arrival, jumping slightly.

“Hi, uh I’’m-” John started.

The man interrupted in a deep, gravely voice. “You’re John Watson. You want to become a doctor when you’re older, your brother Harry is an alcoholic and I know your dad died in war, which you're emotionally troubled about. Where did he die, by the way? Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“W-what?” John stuttered, taken aback, “How did you-?”

“I noticed.” The man said simply, shrugging.

“You can read minds?”

The man smirked, “You are in my chemistry class, and carrying around medical books in your bag so I know you are studying to become a doctor. Your bag says, ‘Property of Harry Watson', so it's obviously a hand me down. It could be your father, but he was a military man, that bag wouldn't be so badly looked after if it was his, so brother is the most likely case. He's obviously an alcoholic because the bag has various stains from certain alcoholic beverages. And I know your father died at war because of the slight tinge under your clothes- dog tags…” He stopped talking, trailing off, and lowered his gaze.

“Wow. Awesome.” John said honestly.

“Wait… You’re not angry?” He looked at him, tilting his head to the side.

John wished to say something sensible to the darker haired man, but didn’t know how. His heart pounded as he looked into the mans eyes, which looked golden from the evening sun shining through the window, staying silent.

The man's gaze dropped to his notebook, which laid in his lap.

“There's one thing, Harry's short for Harriet.” John laughed, snapping out of his trance and bringing a hand up to cover his mouth.

“Harry’s your sister.” The man sighed and put his hand behind his head, grinning sheepishly.

“But that was truly amazing.” John told him.

“You really think so?” He raised an eyebrow, “That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?” He asked.

“Piss off!” The man smiled, his green eyes lighting up. John laughed.

“Do you want to come sit with me?”John asked him, motioning over to the table where his chemistry textbook sat.

“I have to go actually, I have an appointment to keep, ” He downed the rest of his coffee, and picked up his notebook. “My name’s Sherlock Holmes. I’ll see you around, John.” He then left the cafe, his long coat trailing after him, and was gone. The rest of the night went by in a blur, Johns thoughts consumed with Sherlocks shimmering green eyes that lit up when he laughed and his high cheekbones.


	3. The Rugby Practice

Today was the first day of rugby. John brushed his teeth, got into his practice shorts, blue striped rugby uniform, and made his way down to the field. He spotted a few familiar faces, men from his classes who gave him friendly nods as they stretched and warmed up. Mary was there, talking to a tall man with blonde hair. The man had a whistle around his neck, and was carrying a clipboard, laughing at whatever Mary was telling him.

Mary spotted him and waved him over. 

"John!" She smiled and touched the mans shoulder. "This is Greg, rugby captain."

"Hi" John said, holding out his hand to shake.

"John." Greg nodded. "I've heard so much about you. Excited to see you play today."

John smiled, blushing slightly.

"We're going to start out easy. Let's see you run 20 laps!" Greg shouted, now addressing the team.

Thirty minutes in, John was dripping sweat.

"Hey! We're going to play ball now!" Greg yelled. "Split into two equal groups. Ok?"

John spotted Mary watching the team from the benches, and she smiled and gave him a thumbs up. John smiled back. The ball was tossed, and the game began. John ran back behind everybody and heard his name.

"John!"

It was one of his teammates. He tossed the ball, spiraling through the air towards him and John had to leap as high as he could to catch it. He landed, and ran as hard as he could towards the end of the field, holding the ball protectively under his arm. He heard shouts of encouragement and finally dived at the ground. He had scored his first Try.

"That was great, John!" Greg yelled.

"Yeah, John!" Mary shouted at him from across the field.

"Nice job." A teammate smiled, and helped pull John to his feet.

The game went on. At the end, John had scored 5 Tries, winning the game for his teammates by 3.

As John headed towards the lockers when the game ended, he heard a shout from around the corner.

"Shut up freak." A voice spat, with so much hatred that John stopped in his tracks, listening.

"It's not my fault." A softer voice spoke. It sounded familiar, which made John's heart flutter nervously.

"It is, you idiot!"

"Well it was quite obvious that-..."

The soft voice was cut off by the scuffling of feet and the sound of rough contact. I rounded the corner and saw a neatly dressed, wealthy looking man with his fist raised, ready to bring it down on his victim again.

"What's going on here?" John shouted.

The man lowered his fist to glance back at me. "Why do you care? Get lost."

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" John yelled.

"I have good reason to hit him." He retorted maliciously.

They both turned their attention back to the man on the ground. John realized why his lean shoulders, and tangled mess of black curls were familiar... It was Sherlock.

"Get away from him!" Johns voice was calm, but inside he was boiling with rage.

"Or what?" He smirked, pulling Sherlock closer by the collar of his shirt.

"Don't mess with me." John warned, sizing up the man in front of him.

The man also sized John up, looking him up and down before deciding that it wasn't worth it. "Whatever, I don't need to fight Sherlocks boyfriend." He smirked, shoving Sherlock to the ground, and walked away.

"I'm not actually gay." John spat back defensively, but the man gave no sign he heard. John turned his attention back to Sherlock "You ok?"

John took his hand and pulled him to his feet, Sherlock was a few inches taller than John, and John stood on his tip-toes to study his bruised up face. He had a split lip, a bruised cheekbone, and a cut on his forehead, already bleeding into his eyes.

Sherlock flinched away from John, taking a step back, and wiping away the blood. "I don't need protection."

"I was just trying to be a friend." John said simply.

"I don't have friends." He spat. He shoved past John, leaving him standing there again, just watching his long coat fluttering behind him as he walked away.


	4. The Association with Sherlock Holmes

This day in particular, was cloudy and dull, and John decided to explore the small city of Carlton that the Academy resided in on his own. He was walking along an abandoned street when the telephone booth near him started ringing. He glanced around, but nobody was near. His curiosity won and he decided to go answer the phone.

"Hello?"

"There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?" The voice on the line spoke.

John swallowed nervously. "Uh, who is this? Who's speaking?" This had to be a prank, he thought, and glanced over his shoulder to find nothing out of the ordinary, the street was still empty.

"Do you see the camera, John?" The voice in the phone said, and he froze when he heard his name.

"Yes" He said quietly, "I do."

"Watch." the voice said. He watched the camera shut off, its led red light blinking off and the camera fall stiffly, now facing the ground.

"There is another camera on the building across the street. Do you see it? And another on the building to your right."

John watched in dismay as the two other cameras turned off. "Why are you doing this?" He asked.

A shiny black limousine pulled up behind him. "Get into the car, John Watson. I would make a threat but I feel that the situation is quite clear to you."

"I'm sorry, I not going get into a strangers car-" He started, but the phone call ended abruptly, the dial tone ringing out loudly on the empty street. John, despite his gut feeling, got into the limo and the driver pulled away quickly. There was a lady inside, texting on her phone, about a few years older than John. She had long, wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes.

"H- Hi" He stuttered, wringing his hands nervously.

"Hi." She said looking up, surprised. It was like she didn't even realize John had gotten in the car.

"Uh- W- what's your name?" He asked her.

"Anthea." She pursed her lips, and tilted her head.

"That's not your real name." John stated, because it looked like she was lying.

"No. It's not" She smiled.

"Well, I'm John." He said.

"I know." She said, going back to her texting.

"Is there any point in asking where I'm going?" John mumbled.

"Not at all, John, not at all." She giggled, not looking up for the rest of the ride.

They ended up at a very large house surrounded by old oak trees. They got out of the limo and were met by a thin lady with very high heels who beckoned for John to follow her, but she didn't say one word. They walked into the large house and up the stairs, The lady motioned me to go through the doors at the end of the hall and then she just walked away. When John walked in the doors he was met by a very tall, round man who looked to be in his early thirties, holding an umbrella and sitting in a very large armchair.

"You know, I've got a phone. I mean, this is very clever and all that, but, ah, you could just phone me. On my phone." John said, laughing at this absurdity. "What's this about then?"

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes one learns to be discreet. Hence this place. You must be tired. Sit down." The man said, motioning to an armchair by the window.

"I don't want to sit down." John snapped, "This is about Sherlock?"

The strange man laughed, "You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening." John smirked, crossing his arms defensively.

"Yes, brave words. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity don't you think?" the man twirled his umbrella in his hands before continuing, "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"Sherlock? I don't have a connection." John said, "I barely know him. I've only spoken to him a couple times."

"Hm. It seems to me that Sherlock as taken quite a liking to you."

"What do you mean?" John shot back defensively.

"Sherlock likes you. He's told me all about you, John Watson." The man told me.

"What?" John couldn't hide his surprise, "Who are you?"

"An interested party." He said.

"Why are you interested in Sherlock?" John blurted out, "I'm guessing you're not friends."

"You've met him. How many friends do you imagine he has?" The man asked me.

"He doesn't have friends." John mumbled.

"I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having." The man sighed.

"And what's that?" John pressed him to continue.

"An enemy." The man shrugged.

"An enemy." John repeated, quizzically.

"In his mind certainly. If you were to ask him he'd probably say his archenemy," the man laughed. "He does love to be dramatic."

"Well thank god you're above all that." John's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" He asked asked, tipping his head to one side in question.

"I could be wrong but," John stated, shrugging, "I think that's none of your business."

"It could be." the man laughed.

"It really couldn't." John retorted blankly.

"If you did continue to try to befriend Sherlock, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."

"Why?" John questioned.

"Because you are not very wealthy." The man stated, raising his eyebrows "It would, of course be in exchange for information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?" John asked again.

"I worry about him, I don't want him getting into trouble," The man said quickly, "but I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a difficult relationship."

"I can't promise anything." John shrugged.

"I haven't mentioned a figure." The man frowned.

"Don't bother." John shrugged.

"You're very loyal, very quickly," He said, sitting forward in his chair.

"No I'm not. I'm just not interested." John shrugged again.

"Do you trust Sherlock?" The man asked his voice changing, becoming softer. John didn't answer, and the man continued, "You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

"Are we done here?" John asked dully. He didn't like this man.

"You tell me." He retorted. "It's time to choose a side, John Watson." And with that he got up and strolled out of the room, twirling his umbrella in his hands once again.

John walked back outside where the limo was, and it dropped him back outside of the Academy.


	5. The Most Dangerous Man

After practice John headed down to the cafeteria, grabbing a mug of tea. After a quick inspection of the room, he noticed a dark-haired man sitting all alone in the corner, he had on a familiar black coat, with the collar turned up. The mysterious man's voice rang in John's ear, "Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" John smirked at this thought, because yes he did plan on it, as he headed over to him and to see that his table was covered with scientific papers and at least five different textbooks written in foreign languages.

"Hey Sherlock, move your stuff." John smiled down at him.

Sherlock looked up slowly, a pencil clenched in one hand and a cup of plain black coffee in the other. He just continued to stare, so John piled up some of his papers to make room for him to sit.

"What's up?" John asked, trying to break the awkward silence.

He set down his coffee and cleared his throat. "You're going to sit here?"

"You don't want me to?" John swallowed, maybe this was a bad idea. After all, Sherlock did say he doesn't have friends right?

Sherlock frowns, then shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee.

John openly relaxes a little, then says, "I just met a friend of yours. Last night."

"I told you." Sherlock rolls his eyes. "I don't have friends."

"An enemy." He quickly corrects himself.

"Oh." Sherlock nods. "Which one?"

"Your archenemy, apparently. Do people have archenemies?" John takes a sip of tea and smiles at him quizzically.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Sherlock laughs.

"Yeah. He did." John grins. 

Sherlock didn't look fazed at all. "Did you take it?" 

"No." John shakes his head.

"John, we could have split the money. Think it through next time." Sherlock smirked, shaking his head slightly.

"Who was he?" John asks, tapping his fingers on the table.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now." Sherlock sighs, turning back to his papers once again. He was staring at his notes with a look of helpless discontent on his face, then he glances up at John and shuts his book with contempt. He stands up quickly, gathering his things, and then turns and begins to stroll out of the cafeteria. John wondered if he was just going to leave without saying anything, until Sherlock, who was already halfway across the cafeteria, turns around and calls out, "Aren't you coming, John?"

John can't hide the happiness on his face as he replies, "Of course."

***************

John sat in the courtyard with Sherlock, enjoying some afternoon sun, even if snow covered the ground and the air was chilly, he appreciated the warmth it gave him, since the sun was scarce during the winter.

The light shining on Sherlock made him look incredible, practically glowing, and John couldn’t help but to gaze at him thoughtfully. Sherlock lazily puffed on a cigarette, taking long drags and blowing the smoke up where it swirled around and disappeared into the sky.

“Those things will kill you, you know.” John spoke, nodding his head towards Sherlock.

This remark causes Sherlock to smile softly, and he retorts back, “Says the man who's thinking about applying for the military.”

“That’s different- wait. I’ve never told anybody that.” John said, raising his eyebrows at Sherlock.

Sherlock smirks and takes another drag, “I could tell from your knees and posture.” he shrugs after exhaling a lungful of smoke, and then he drops the half burnt cigarette on the ground, crushing it with his foot. He scowls, “Low tar.” he says, as if having to explain why he hadn’t finished smoking it.

“My posture and knees?” John asked, confused.

“Hmm, oh yes, the scrapes over the half healed scars on your knees and arms, due to your overly enthusiastic rugby practices the past few weeks.” Sherlock nodded thoughtfully at his own words, “By posture I mean the set, defensive way you hold yourself both sitting and standing. You seek danger. Almost wait for it.”

“Wow, that’s… amazing!” John exclaimed.

Sherlock freezes, a light blush creeping up on his cheeks and his gaze dropping to the ground.

“So Sherlock Holmes. What’s your family like?” John asked, trying to coax further conversation out of Sherlock. “I’m interested.”

“Not much to tell.” Sherlock sighs wearily, “My parents were away on business a lot when I was young. My older brother took care of me when I was small. He still always tries to tell me that he knows best, so we fight often. Now he holds a minor position in the British Government so I don’t speak to him much.”

“Oh,” John laughs. “He sounds very interesting.”

“Tell me about your family?” Sherlock asks.

“You can’t deduce it it?” John teases.

“Just the obvious.” Sherlock shrugs.

“Well, my older sister Harry is an alcoholic, you knew that.” John stumbled over his words. “She is constantly getting arrested. My mum and her always get into fights, because she is still living at home. She also… Has a girlfriend. Her and mum don’t see eye to eye when it comes to that kind of stuff.” John continued, all in one breath. “Mum, she’s depressed. She’s on a bunch of pills and things. It all started when my dad…” John broke off, and felt tears welling up.

“I’m sorry John. I- I mean- You don’t have to continue.” Sherlock looks at him, wide-eyed.

“It’s fine.” John said. “My dad died, he got shot and the doctors couldn’t save him. That’s why I want to become a doctor, so I can save others.”

“I don’t know what to say…” Sherlock responds.

“It’s fine.” John murmurs again.

They sat in silence for a couple more minutes until Sherlock broke it, 

“Listen, what I said before, John, I meant it. I don't have friends. I've just got one.” He smiles at John.

“Yeah?” John beams up at him.

“Yes.” He nodded, confirming his statement.

Silence again. They didn’t mind, each others company was enough to feel comfortable for now.

“This weekend i’m having dinner with my parents at their estate.” Sherlock spoke out loud. “I was wondering if you’d like to join? I could show you around the place I grew up.”

“Oh god yes.” John sucked in a breath, answering without missing a beat. “A weekend away sounds wonderful.”


End file.
